


Cloths of Heaven

by TheVineSpeaketh



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous Relationships, Literature, M/M, Nerdiness, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he hastened as fast as his admittedly scrawny legs would allow out of his brother’s car and through the front doors of the school, did he know precisely what fate awaited him once he stepped inside? No, that’s impossible.</p>
<p>But apparently it was not impossible to Heimdall. Oh, sorry, <i>Principal</i> Heimdall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloths of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I'm having a weird writing period where everything's just kind of coming out, so I can't really stop to beta everything. So if there are mistakes or if this just kind of sucks, I'm sorry. I'll come back and sort out the pieces later. :D

Loki could. Not. Believe. His. Luck.

When he woke up this morning, brushed his teeth and tried to tame his wild bedhead, did he imagine that **this** was what would happen to him today? No, of course not. As he scarfed down his toast and glanced up at the clock while bodily shaking Thor with one hand, did he realize the horrible torture he would have to endure? No. As he hastened as fast as his admittedly scrawny legs would allow out of his brother’s car and through the front doors of the school, did he know precisely what fate awaited him once he stepped inside? No, that’s impossible.

But apparently it was not impossible to Heimdall. Oh, sorry, **Principal** Heimdall.

Loki had just burst through the doors and was attempting to hustle to his homeroom before he was spotted when the voice he had learned to fear followed him down the hallway, effectively stopping him in his tracks. It issued out his name, but from the way it was spoken, it seemed like a command.

“Laufeyson.”

Loki stopped, biting his lip and pinching his face in an expression of pure apprehension. Why was Mr. Heimdall calling him? What did he do? Did his mere existence deserve a beating from this man? Loki had a tendency to talk down to those he thought were inferior or useless, and their age was no shield to hide behind. He berated anybody who he believed to be victims of the aforementioned traits, and it was because of his wicked tongue that he and Mr. Heimdall were not on the best of terms.

_No doubt he’s finally here for my soul._ Taking a moment to school himself, he turned around, smiling amiably and calmly. “Mr. Heimdall,” he addressed the principal smoothly as the man walked up the hallway to meet him. His figure was strangely large for a school principal, and not in the ‘I enjoy pies’ sense; his figure wasn’t hulking, but it was definitely filled out with noticeable muscles carving small niches in his skin. None of this was hidden under his impeccable state of dress, from his golden dress shirt to his smooth black tie. His slacks were well-fitting, revealing muscular legs, and combined with the effortless way he seemed to move, he was absolutely terrifying. Principals weren’t supposed to look like that, especially since their last one was so thin and close to a breakdown. Ms. Potts didn’t last long, but that was because she was apparently hired by some rich man to be a secretary. Loki didn’t blame her for taking the job; being a principal was, as he’d heard, a rather stressful job.

But Mr. Heimdall looked nowhere near close to a breakdown. He was cool, his face an expressionless wall of merciless stone, and he delivered justice with a… well, Loki could only call it a strange hand. He didn’t act with favoritism or disdain; he sometimes encouraged Tony Stark, one of the most foolhardy of his classmates, and other times berated him for things that were nearly the same. It was almost as if he could see the consequences for some actions long before the people who did them could, resulting in a strange assignment of punishments and benefits.

He wondered vaguely what fate was in store for him before Mr. Heimdall stopped in front of him. Despite being older, his face was a smooth plane of skin, his beard well-kept and trimmed precisely. His golden eyes were eerily staring down at him, and Loki resisted the urge to squirm. Instead, he pulled on his best smile and allowed his silver tongue to do the talking. “A pleasant morning, is it not? I was just on my way to homeroom. I woke up late this morning, you see, so I could not catch the bus; Thor’s classes aren’t until the afternoon, and he is hard to rouse, as I’m sure you know.” 

Mr. Heimdall **should** know; before he was principal, he was a rather intimidating history teacher, and Thor often fell asleep in his classes after tests. Thor loved history, but he usually spent all night cramming to pass the tests with flying colors, and so the result was a snoozing, drooling Thor spent entirely over a desk. Often he would miss hearing the bell ring for him to move on, so tired was he.

Loki smiled winningly, hoping his anecdote would serve to remind Mr. Heimdall that some circumstances were out of his control; and besides, the homeroom bell hadn’t rung yet, so he technically wasn’t late.

If Mr. Heimdall had even heard him, he didn’t give any sign of it, still looking down at him with those unnerving gold eyes. Loki’s smile slowly faded, and he had a strange feeling that he had lost before he’d even began his day. Then, Mr. Heimdall finally spoke.

“You will report to detention immediately after school, Mr. Laufeyson.” He began to walk away, Loki dropping his bag to the ground in both shock and protest.

“But I haven’t done anything!” he yelled to him, and Mr. Heimdall turned, his hands behind his back. On his face was an ironically placating smile, as if this was happening because of something beyond his control.

“Perhaps you didn’t realize,” he said, his voice strong and intelligible despite their distance apart, “that daylight savings has begun, Mr. Laufeyson.”

Loki’s groan could be heard just as Mr. Heimdall said, “See you after school, Mr. Laufeyson.”

* * *

Loki trudged down the hall, his cell phone pressed lightly to his ear as he tried vainly to tell Thor that he didn’t need a ride home until five instead of three. Next to him, Tony Stark was smiling to himself, his fingers tapping easily across his custom-made phone as he no doubt told everyone about Loki’s latest fallout with their principal.

Loki would scold him later. For now, he had to keep Thor from worrying incessantly over what the change was about.“No, Thor. No, I have detention. What do you mean, how did I get detention? It was entirely your fault! …You failed to inform me that daylight savings had begun.” He stopped in the middle of the hall, Tony stopping a few strides ahead of him, looking back and nearly guffawing at the incredulous look that was on his friend’s face. Loki shot him a glare, but he was suddenly engaged with his phone call again. “Thor, I’m fairly sure that mentioning you’re my brother won’t do anything to change the situation. And yes, this is all entirely your fault.” He glanced up, taking note of the clock; it read 2:57. “I’ve got to head to his room, okay? So I’ll see you at five. … **Yes** , I’ll tell him you said hello. Bye.” He snapped his phone shut, shoving it in his pocket with a derisive grunt. “When hell freezes over.”

“Oh, look on the bright side, Reindeer Games,” Tony said, and Loki groaned at the nickname – it was still in bad form to call him that after that one drunken incident with that strange helm prop from the fall play – and showered Tony with a glare that Tony would call ‘affectionate’. “At least it isn’t detention with Mr. Fury. I swear he’d make you clean the pool and then kiss the football teams’ feet while helping them shower. Maybe even Assistant Coach Coulson, too, while you’re at it.” He stopped there, his look suddenly growing distant. “Of course, I wouldn’t mind kissing Ms. Hill’s feet, if given the right incentive – ”

“Not helping,” Loki said, beginning to storm his way to Mr. Heimdall’s room. Instead of serving detention in the office, he was to spend it with the principal in his old room. Spending two hours with Mr. Heimdall and knowing that somewhere in the same room remnants of Thor’s saliva remained on the surface of one of the many desks was possibly too much for him to handle, and Tony’s fantasizing about Ms. Hill (which was just a replacement for all the fantasizing he did about Ms. Potts) was not helping. “I just got to get there, sit down, read for two hours, and then get out of there. Fairly simple.”

Tony scoffed, earning another glare from Loki. “You can only hope that you’re so lucky. Mr. Heimdall usually isn’t good with newcomers. I don’t know if you’ve ever had afterschool detention with him, Breadloaf, but from what I’ve heard, it isn’t very comforting.”

He looked around the hallway, as if looking for someone who was eavesdropping on them, before turning to Loki, his face entirely serious. “If you want, I can quickly find something to fuck up and join you in there. We can pass the time studying, or talking, or getting a feel for each other.” Here, he trailed a finger seductively up Loki’s arm, successfully giving him goosebumps. Loki’s free hand shot up to his arm, rubbing it quickly and attempting to get the goosebumps to disappear.

They just so happened to stop in front of Mr. Heimdall’s door, one on either side, with Tony’s back to the front door. Tony simply looked at him, his gaze intense. Loki stared back a moment, gripping his arm lightly, before he suddenly narrowed his eyes at Tony. “I can’t tell if you’re actually hitting on me or if this is a front.”

“And you’ll never know,” Tony replied, a smirk on his face, and without any further ado, he turned and trotted toward the door, flipping on his shades and tossing a hand haphazardly behind his head in an informal goodbye.

Loki scoffed, his hand already on the handle of the door. “Goodbye, Stark,” he called, and then, halfway through the door, he turned back and yelled, “And I’m nobody’s beard!”

Tony didn’t even turn back, just pushing open the front door and flipping him off with his free arm. Loki laughed, finally walking in the room and turning to shut the door.

He turned around, feeling his smile suddenly melt as he saw Mr. Heimdall’s serious expression. He stood there, frozen in place, his bag slung over his shoulder, and he suddenly realized that he really **did** have no idea what detention would be like with Mr. Heimdall. Would he make him organize books? Would he give him an essay to write? Would they just sit there awkwardly? Or – and dear gods, Loki certainly hoped it wasn’t this – would they awkwardly talk about Thor?

They stayed there for a moment, staring at one another, before Mr. Heimdall gestured in front of him, his arm taking a rather majestic sweeping motion in front of him. “By all means, Mr. Laufeyson,” he said, “take a seat.” Loki did just that, swinging his bag in front of him and nearly scrambling for a desk, settling in and dropping his bag by his side. He looked around the classroom, noticing the dull dark blue paint on the walls, the smudge marks on the chalkboard, the old rickety state of the desk. He looked at Mr. Heimdall, who had simply pulled out a copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ and had begun reading. Loki raised a brow, unimpressed. _Seriously?_ He thought to himself, reaching down into his own bag and pulling out his most recent book of poetry. _He had me stay after school so that we could just **read**? I thought for certain he’d be more intimidating, or make me do something humiliating. _ He shrugged to himself, looking down at his book and flipping to the page he remembered he’d left off on. _Maybe he’s just being lenient because I was simply late for school. It was a mistake, after all._

“What are you reading, Mr. Laufeyson?”

_Oh shit._ Loki looked up, the book snapping closed on his thumb. He turned the cover to face Mr. Heimdall, and the man gauged it before looking back at Loki, his face neutral. “I asked you a question, Mr. Laufeyson. I would expect a verbal answer.”

“Well, you can read, can’t you?” That got him to raise an eyebrow. Loki mused that Tony would die of a heart attack if he had seen this. The unflappable Mr. Heimdall finally had a **reaction** to something. He shook the idea from his mind, and continued. “I’m fairly certain your keen eye can see that this is a book of poetry by William Butler Yeats.”

“That it is,” Heimdall replied, setting his book down without marking the page. Loki made due note of this before turning his attention back to the principal’s face. Heimdall had leaned forward, putting his hands together and leaning on his elbows. “Do you have a particular poem that you favor out of the lot?”

Loki didn’t need to think. “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’ has something of merit about it, I do believe,” he responded, and Heimdall’s brow rose once more. _Two expressions in one day. Well, they’re the same, but it’s not like Stark will know that._

“What about it ‘has something of merit’, do you think?” he asked, and Loki had a sickening notion that maybe he was being tested. Or toyed with. Loki didn’t like the prospect of either, but since he was already on a roll, he might as well respond with honesty.

“Well,” he began, “the blatant rhyme scheme makes it seem as if there is something about it to be desired, but the message holds it firmly as one of my favorite poems. I mean, who in their life has not experienced the disquieting sensation of unrequited love? To look out and see the one dearest to your heart living their life beyond you, and you still want to relinquish even the comfort of your anonymity to lay bare your soul to them? It is a hard thing, no doubt, to put into words, and yet he perfects this flawlessly.” Here, he falls silent, because he hadn’t meant to do an analysis of how the poem made him feel, so much as what was good about it.

But Mr. Heimdall appeared intrigued.  A small smile curved his lip, and he was leaning forward more intently now. “How would you know, Mr. Laufeyson, that the poem is about unrequited love? For all you know, it could be a plea for peace.”

Loki scoffed at that, knowing for a fact that was a jab at his interpretation. “If you’re referring to the fact that Yeats was involved in war, it’s simply a waste of time. This is far too personal an arrangement to be referring to the prospect of peace. It’s far too clichéd. We aren’t speaking of Tolkien, after all.”

“You believe _The Lord of the Rings Trilogy_ was allegorical to Tolkien’s experiences in war?”

“It all seems rather obvious to me. The ghastly descriptions of the Dead Marshes, the obvious dictatorship references involving the Great Eye; the book is practically a pamphlet on the horrors of war.”

“But Tolkien said it **wasn’t** allegorical.”

Loki shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t. People lie all the time. Doesn’t stop me from picking at it until I find the truth.”

Heimdall leaned back, seemingly satisfied. “And you know about the truth, do you?”

Loki’s hair rose in warning, and he realized he was treading on uneven territory again. He cleared his throat, thinking over his words before he spoke them. He didn’t want to dredge up past wrongs he’d done. He knew he was notorious among teachers for coming up with convincing tales to get himself out of trouble, or to draw others away from it. “No. I just know a lie when I hear one.”

Heimdall looked at him a moment, his gaze rather intense, before he suddenly laughed. And Loki had never seen anything more strange, or… oddly enough, attractive. The man’s solemn face suddenly split in an expression of mirth, his golden eyes alight with laughter, and it was beautiful on him. Loki gripped his book tightly, both afraid of that smile and strangely drawn to it. Thoughts, unbidden, went through his mind, one of them being _why doesn’t he smile more often,_ but he crushed it as quickly as he could, trying to keep himself focused. Heimdall was cunning; he knew Loki better than he thought. He didn’t want to get caught off guard.

Heimdall’s laughter subsided, and a smile was left gracing his lips. “Loki,” he said, and Loki nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name on that voice without it containing any undertones of annoyance or scolding. “You are quite astute.” Loki couldn’t help his own smile at that.

In the end, they had just spent the entire duration of detention bantering back and forth, speaking of literature and of matters involving Loki. They never drew close upon Heimdall’s own life, but Loki didn’t begrudge him for it; the life of a teacher was vastly different from that of a student, and he would not like to infringe upon what he was not allowed to know, though he did secretly promise himself he would worm it out of the man one day, if he could.

At 4:50, Heimdall dismissed Loki, packing his belongings and leaving with his student. Loki walked to the door, his book still clutched in his hands, and made his way outside, not looking back.

The sun was nearly set, the sky a violent pomegranate pink with shades of orange fading into purple and blue entirely on the other end. The parking lot was nearly empty save for a few cars he didn’t recognize. Thor still hadn’t arrived, but Loki wasn’t too worried; Thor was punctual, and usually never arrived early or late if he could help it.

The door to the school opened and closed behind him, and he didn’t need to turn to see it was Mr. Heimdall. His pristine black shoes made little noise on the pavement, but still Loki could hear it. Loki was perfectly content to ignore his presence, but when a hand landed on his shoulder, he was stunned. He turned to look, seeing Mr. Heimdall sporting his usual expressionless façade. “Is your ride coming, Loki?”

Surprised he would actually touch him, Loki simply nodded, words failing him. The principal looked out to the street before looking back at Loki, still not having moved his hand. “Well, then,” he said, looking straight into Loki’s green eyes. “I’ll take my leave. Tread softly, Loki.” And, with that, he was gone.

As his car pulled out of the drive and Thor’s pulled in past him, Loki’s eyes lit up once more with surprise. He recognized that phrase. It was from the poem.

His brother pulled up next to him, smiling as he rolled the window down. “Hop in, brother,” he called, and Loki did so, feeling numb as he set his bag in front of his feet. Shutting the door, he buckled up, staring out the window, unsure of how to feel.

Thor didn’t seem to notice, pulling them out of the driveway and readying to turn them on to the road. “Did you have a good day, brother?”

Loki was slouching in his seat, his hand resting on his stomach, the other resting along the side of the car. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice slightly off. “It was fine.”

Thor smiled brightly. “Despite detention, you mean?”

Loki’s stomach fluttered, but he kept that to himself. Instead, his emotions settled on happiness, and he smiled, still staring out the window. He was happy about this. Yes. He was **very** happy about this. “No, not despite it,” he said, his grin widening. “I think it helped.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


End file.
